


False Hope

by mediocrityatbest



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (for real though), (idk how good it is), Angst, Lots of confusion, Multi, Whump, a couple people on Tumblr showed interest, anywho, but here we have it, but it is supposed to be open-ended, choose your own adventure my guy, don't go into this expecting happy, everything your pain loving heart could wish for, i have Reservations about posting it, i should warn you though, i wasn't sure because the sanders sides community doesn't seem to really be into, i wrote this, my guys, so im putting it up, this is whump and angst and pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:04:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocrityatbest/pseuds/mediocrityatbest
Summary: All Virgil wants to do is go home, to leave all this pain behind him. Nothing’s ever been that easy, though. He doesn’t think it ever will be. (Whump, my guys. This is a whump story.)





	False Hope

**Author's Note:**

> I've never actually written something that I considered to be whump before. (My first Sanders Sides story might be, but I'm not quite sure where the line is.) So I guess this is my debut into writing whump also? Either way, feel free to attack me in the comments for any mistakes that may have been made. I hope you hurt just as much as I did writing it.

Virgil couldn’t count how many times he’d escaped. Through the window, or the door. Killing the man who kept him here, or taking him in so he could be tried in a court of law and given his proper sentencing. The wheres and hows of the situation were always different. There were only two constants: his friends always saved him, and he always woke up.

Yes, woke up. Not like, he got knocked out or wounded and lived, not like he was tired and took a nap. Not like he was so  _ fucking exhausted  _ he slept for three days and woke up in the safety of his friends. No, not like any of that. He woke up, as in, the next morning he was back in his cell, or strapped to the table, or chained to the wall, or any number of different things, each humiliating in their own right.

He woke up, as in, none of it really happened. It was one of his tormentor’s favorite things to do to him. The man did plenty of other things to Virgil too, and there were plenty of other kinds of pain that Virgil had to learn to breathe with, but nothing was quite like the pain of freedom. Everytime he woke up to see another musty floor or stained ceiling or smugly grinning face, a little more of Virgil shriveled up and died. He didn’t even bother with trying to help these apparitions anymore. He went with them on that stupid, off chance, hope that they were real but he didn’t try to help because the effort was never worth the outcome.

The chain attached to his ankle was sturdy enough that he’d stopped trying to chip through it weeks ago. He had also stopped believing he’d ever get out weeks ago. He had stopped believing in anything good happening to or for him. He had stopped believing he’d ever get to see his fiancés again. He almost hoped that they’d never have to see him looking like this. Maybe it wasn’t a fair thing, to wish that they never knew what had become of him, but if it stopped him from having to look them in the eyes and see that disappointment when they realized how far he’d fallen, how much he’d given up, then he’d take it. Even this pain, this hope, as horrible and lethal as it was, would always be better than losing the two people who were getting him through this.

The door scraped open and Virgil flinched back, watching as a guard walked in. Something about him looked off, as though he wasn’t happy to be there. That was definitely wrong, because they were always glad to hurt him. They always liked how he acted, liked how he screamed, liked how he begged. (He wished he didn’t beg. It wouldn’t be so terrible if he could just  _ stop begging _ .)

The man collapsed forward onto the ground, and Virgil whimpered. That certainly wasn’t right. They weren’t supposed to pass out or die. That didn’t make any sense at all. Then, someone else walked in. It took Virgil a moment to process the hair and the eyes, took him a moment to see anything beyond the gun, but when he did, he almost started crying. They had just done this a few days ago. Couldn’t he ever have a break?

“Virgil? Virgil, is that you?” The man walked closer and Virgil pressed himself more into the corner. Sometimes when they came for him, they hurt him. Told him he was useless, couldn’t even hold up against mild pain. Virgil didn’t want that, not again. He didn’t know how many times he could be disowned by the only family he had before he would collapse in on himself, a senseless doll that felt nothing and thought nothing and was nothing.

“Virgil, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s Patton.” He slowly extended a hand. Virgil didn’t look at it. “Please, kiddo, can I come closer?” And yeah, that was new. Patton had never called him kiddo in one of these. He’d also never asked Virgil about anything, he just did it because they were on a timer.

They were getting realer. Virgil didn’t like that they were getting realer.  
_It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real._

“Hey, kiddo. Can you walk? It’s okay if you can’t, but I need to know. Can you walk, Virge?” He still hadn’t put his hand on Virgil. The questions and the concern radiating from him was so Patton-like that he wanted to cry and maybe scream and let Patton hold him until the end times came. It almost made him hope this was real.

Slowly, shaking from fear and cold, Virgil shook his head. There was no way he’d be able to walk anywhere, but Patton already knew that. He knew that because he wasn’t real. He already knew that Virgil had been starved and beaten, that he had badly set broken bones and that he hadn’t walked anywhere in more than a month; he’d been dragged.

“That’s alright. That’s perfectly alright. Listen, Virgil. Logan is guarding the door. We are going to get you out of here. Logan and Dee will be so happy to have you back. And so will Roman and I. We’ve all really missed you, kiddo. It hasn’t been the same without you around. There’s no music blasting through the compound. No Disney duets with Roman. No cuddling on the couches. It’s not right without you there. And we want you back.” There were tears in Patton’s eyes, and his voice was shaking, and this was all so real. It was more accurately Patton than anything else that had happened ever could be. It wasn’t real, but he could hope. He shouldn’t, but he could. “So, kiddo, since you can’t walk, I’m going to carry you out. Okay? Can I pick you up, Virge?”

Virgil forced himself to nod. He would take even falling asleep in a soft fake-bed surrounded by his family just once over whatever was going to happen if he said no. It was undoubtedly going to be much worse.

“Okay. That’s good, Virgil. That’s really good. I’m going to pick you up now, alright?” Patton crouched by Virgil and when he nodded again, Patton secured his arms around Virgil and lifted. Virgil winced and whimpered quietly.

“Oh, god. You’re so light. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Virge. I’m so sorry. I don’t want this to hurt. I’m so sorry. We should’ve gotten to you sooner. I’m sorry.” And, well, wasn’t that new too? None of them had ever apologized before. None of them had ever acted like what happened to Virgil was their fault. (It wasn’t, obviously. It was Virgil’s fault. They had always known that before.) They had never been so surprised by his state of being. When he woke up from this one, he may very well give up entirely. This was  _ too much _ .

Patton began walking toward the door. Every step sent a shock of pain traveling through every nerve and synapse Virgil had that still functioned. He did his best not to whine. He didn’t want even his fake-family to feel guilty for this.

“Logan, I have him. He’s alive. I have him.”

“Oh my god.” And that was Logan’s voice, not coldly logical like it always had been, not removed and indifferent. It was soft and horrified and full of emotion in a way only a few people ever heard it.

Could this be real?

Virgil opened his eyes (when had they shut?) to see Logan’s worried face. The worry spread over every feature that Virgil loved, over every freckle and line of his face, down his neck and into his arms and his back. This was not Logan’s public face. This was not Logan’s mission face. This was Logan’s face, as it was when he didn’t have to put on a mask. This was Logan, in a way that Virgil had never quite seen him before.

“Virgil, Starlight, you’re going to be okay. We’re going to make sure that you’re okay.” One of Logan’s hands came up, almost like he wanted to push Virgil’s hair back, and Virgil flinched. He could see every emotion flying over Logan’s face (horror and fear and anger and horror and anger and horror) and then the way he shut it all down. His mission face slid into place, and Virgil was still reeling on the way Logan had called him Starlight, the way it sounded almost reverent, like a plea, like the way Virgil had imagined it so many times when he was first brought here and really thought escape was possible.

It was  _ Logan _ .

But it wasn’t because it couldn’t be because it never was because Virgil was not leaving this place.

_ It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. _

“Sorry,” Virgil rasped out, voice still broken and rough from the last time he’d screamed until his vocal cords gave out. He didn’t want to make Logan mad at him, not real Logan, not fake-Logan, not any Logan so long as Virgil lived. He didn’t want Logan to think that he was scared of him, that he didn’t want him around. That had never been true.

“No, Starlight, no. There is absolutely nothing for you to apologize for.” Logan’s face looked sort of crumpled and broken again, the same look he’d had on their first week on the job when he’d been shot in the shoulder. He wasn’t hurt, was he? No version of Logan ever deserved that. And definitely not over something as infinitesimal as Virgil.

Logan’s face swung back to Patton. “Give him to me.”

“You’re a better shot and I have full faith that you are going to kill anything that moves in this place. I’ll carry him. You get us out.”

There was a moment of tense silence where Virgil was afraid this would be another one where they turn on each other because of him, where they start fighting in the building and then everyone dies and it’s all his fault. But then Logan nodded tersely, following his leader’s orders, and began to lead them slowly out of the building.

There weren’t any people in the halls. Not even bodies of people who had once stood guard here, and Virgil tried to focus on anything that wasn’t the way fake-Patton’s arms were rubbing against his bruises and cuts, anything that wasn’t how he could feel his broken ribs not acting right, anything that wasn’t how absolutely destroyed he was going to be when he woke up tomorrow and was strapped to another steel table, waiting for whatever pain his captor saw fit to bestow.

So Virgil wondered where the guards were and why there wasn’t at least some evidence that they had ever been there to start. And Virgil began to wonder if they had even encountered anyone on the way in. And if this was one of the stories where it was all a trap, conceived so that Virgil would blame himself for their capture and torture as well as his own.

He hated these.

(He’d be lying if he said these were his least favorites. He’d be lying if he said anything could ever compare to the pain of disappointing Dee and Lo to the point they took back ever loving him and broke up with him, or disappointing Roman to the point that he took back their best-friendship and denounced him a fraud, or disappointing Patton to the point he kicked Virgil out and demanded he never come back. It was a horrible, awful, selfish, disgusting thought, but Virgil couldn’t take their hatred or derision. Not for anything in the world could he live through that.)

Virgil saw the door opening just as they passed by. His one rule, the one rule he tried to live by, the one rule that could keep him safe from this stupid hope of waking up at home, the one rule he had made for himself was to never help them. He didn’t have the strength to help them, to get them all out of there just to wake up again. He couldn’t do it. Helping them ruined him, helping them hurt him, helping them meant making everything so much worse.

He could never resist.

Virgil let out a gasp, and jerked enough that Patton almost dropped him. Three cuts on his back reopened and Logan spun around to see what was wrong and then there were shots going off and Virgil was laying underneath Patton and he didn’t want to think what that could mean.

An eternity and a half later, Logan’s voice came through Virgil’s muffled ears. “. . .alright? Pat. . .Starli. . .hurt. . .have to hurry. . .” Virgil felt it when Patton lifted him up again, heard the gasp he made when his cuts were aggravated, felt the heaving of Patton’s chest as they began to go more quickly. Virgil couldn’t make sense of the colors he saw blurring by, and he couldn’t make sense of the noises he heard, and he didn’t have any idea what was going on. He just kept himself awake, trying to drag this hallucination out as long as he could so he didn’t have to go back.

_ It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. _

Virgil chanted his mantra in his head, holding onto this false reality with talons gained through desperation and pain. He wouldn’t go back a second sooner than he had to. He wouldn’t go back until he was forcefully ejected from this. He wouldn’t go back to reality even if it killed him. Not again. He couldn’t do it again.

He’d die if he did this again.

Suddenly there was more light, bright light, nothing like anything that had happened before, and Virgil tried to blink enough to see. He needed to see what was going on, to understand what was happening. The less you knew the more vulnerable you were. It was one of the first lessons Virgil had been taught here, one of the first things that had been seared into his skull. He had to know what was happening.

“Starlight. I am going to put you in this sling, okay?” And there was Logan’s gentle voice that his captor had never gotten right before. (Was he spying on Virgil’s family? Were they in danger too?) There was movement again, and Virgil was seeing both Patton and Logan now, which meant neither of them were holding him. He wasn’t on the ground either, and he was scared. Oh god, were they going to hurt him again? He was so tired of being hurt. He didn’t like pain.

“It is okay, Virgil. Everything is going to be fine. You are not going to be hurt anymore. Just hold still. Dee and Roman are waiting for you, Starlight. Do you hear that? Dee is up there, and you are going to him right now, okay? You are going to live.”

Virgil suddenly started moving upward, and he let one hand flop out of whatever he was laying in, reaching for Logan. “Love you,” Virgil mumbled because maybe if he told enough fake Logans the real one would feel it. Maybe Virgil’s Logan would hear him and know that nothing could ever taken Logan and Dee away from him. He just had to keep saying it.

“I love you too, Starlight,” Logan said, voice choked and now he was crying. Had Virgil hurt Logan? He didn’t want to hurt Logan. That was the last thing that Virgil ever wanted to happen.

For what could have been five seconds or five days, Virgil floated upward. He wasn’t sure how or why it was happening. It hadn’t ever happened before. Then again, this was the most real one of these sessions had ever been. Virgil can’t exactly say he’s surprised that he was switching things up. His tormentor didn’t like monotony.

Hands were touching Virgil, lifting him, picking him up. A voice was mumbling something over and over again. Something sounded like crying. None of that registered; all Virgil could feel was the wind on his skin for the first time in weeks or months and how beautiful the stars were and how he’s never seen so many stars before.

Usually, in these scenarios, he’d been rescued from a building in the middle of a smoggy city. It was usually day, though the presence of the sun was debatable.

This felt so much more real.

Virgil hated this, violently and with the most emotion past delirium that he’s been able to experience in the last century that he’s been there. He didn’t know how the man had gotten this to feel so real, how he’d gotten everything to be spot-on, but if Virgil didn’t know better, he’d think it was real. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was something that no one could think up on their own, something that had to have come from real life; something that was actually happening.

But Virgil did know better, and he knew very well that he would wake up in some uncomfortable position tomorrow, mocked for his weakness and feeling his skin getting chafed raw from his restraints. He knew it all so well. He knew it, and still he was hoping.

_ It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. _

“Virgil? Shit, holy shit. It’s him. It’s really him, he’s okay, he’s alive, he’s going to live, holy  _ shit _ .” That voice was exactly as it always had been, in real life. Roman did everything with a certain level of dramatism that was hard to replicate. No matter how many times Virgil had escaped this building, or whatever building was chosen for that escape, the man had never gotten Roman right before.

He was right now.

“Virgil, darling, can you hear me? Are you awake? Please, darling, I just-I need a nod or a word, anything. Come on, darling.” Virgil didn’t think Dee had ever called him by a name, his or a nickname, so many times in a row before. It was strange, but it sounded just like him. It was almost comforting. It would have been if it had been real.

“Dee,” Virgil mumbled. It was supposed to be a question, he wanted to ask what Dee needed him to say so badly. Anything Dee needed him to do, he would. If Dee needed him to walk the rest of the way, he would. But what came out of his mouth was barely sound, barely more than air, barley proof of being alive.

It’s all the proof this fake-Dee needed.

“Thank god. Thank god. Oh my god, Virgil,” Dee gasped and Virgil knew for sure that Dee was the one making the sounds that seemed like crying at first. Then there was another gasp, and Virgil would know what Roman sounded like crying any day, because he’d been by Roman’s side since the first day of college and then training and then everyday of fieldwork. He’d been with Roman through everything, cheating partners and failed projects, lost pets and misplaced swords. He’s heard Roman cry for a million reasons over the years, and Virgil knows very well that he’s only cried like this once before, when his younger sibling Remy got in a car accident and they weren’t sure, at first, if they were going to make it through the night. (Remy, being a Prince, was obviously harder to kill than that.) Roman had held Remy’s hand and cried on Virgil’s shoulder all night. He had sounded just like this then, too.

Was Virgil going to die?

Regardless of that, there was no way his tormentor had ever heard Roman cry like that. Nobody except for Virgil had. How could he have known all the right sensations that made Roman feel so real, like he might actually be there?

How long had they been being watched?

Virgil felt a hand rest on his head, and then he felt himself go limp, pliable. Hands on the head were bad, always bad, always meant pain. They preceded his worst punishments, his worst feelings, his worst tasks.

Virgil whimpered involuntarily, and the hand was retracted. Oh, god, now they were going to hurt him. He knew the rules, knew how to act, and he still couldn’t do it right. He didn’t know what he did to deserve this ( _ nothing, he’s stupid, he’s worthless, he’s disgusting, he’s selfish, he’s nothing, he didn’t have to do anything to deserve it because he doesn’t deserve anything better- _ ) but he’d do anything to make it stop, to go home again, to be with people who loved him even though he’d never done anything to be worthy of their love.

A soothing voice began murmuring above him, and Virgil tried to listen. Dee’s voice floated to him, faint. It didn’t sound like pain. It sounded like Dee. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you. You aren’t going to be hurt. You are safe with us, darling. You are safe. You are safe. You are safe.”

These promises shouldn’t relax him as much as they did. They shouldn’t be reassuring because they were empty and false and just there to make him hope more, just so he can be crushed again come morning. But Dee said them, and Dee never lied, not to Virgil, and even something with Dee’s likeness wouldn’t lie to Virgil. Dee wouldn’t allow it. So Virgil felt comforted as soon as the words computed with him, because Dee loved him, and Dee wouldn’t lie and Virgil was safe, just for a few minutes on what felt like a roof. He was safe and Dee was holding him and Roman was somewhere nearby and they felt so  _ real _ and Virgil knew better but he didn’t care.

Virgil didn’t care if they weren’t real, didn’t care if it all came back to bite him later, didn’t care didn’t care didn’t care. He could hold onto this when the pain got to bad, to Logan telling him he didn’t have to apologize, to Dee telling him he was safe, to Roman telling him he was going to live, to Patton telling him it was okay. He would hold onto their voices and their words and he would remember that they saved him, even when they weren’t real. Their words would give him what he needed to get through the pain, they would be a shield that held steady when he was hurt. It didn’t matter if they were real.

That was the crux of the issue: it didn’t matter. Real or fake, his family would always save him, give him what he needed to survive, to beat the odds. Real or fake, they would always make sure he could last until they came to him again. Real or fake, Virgil knew that when they rescued him, he would get new defenses to replace the old ones, new words of comfort to replace what was fading. He would get whatever he needed because his family gave him anything he could ever think to ask for, regardless of whether or not he was worthy of it.

Some days he hated them for it, for loving him so much. He hated it. He would have died long before his situation had gotten this bad, long before he could have been made to hate them if they had just stayed away. If he had died, Logan and Dee wouldn’t have to know what happened to him, Roman wouldn’t have to see how weak he was, Patton wouldn’t have to face the reality of the mistake he’d made by requesting Virgil for his team. But for some stupid reason, they loved him. So Virgil had kept on living.

The next time Virgil checked back into the world around him, he was being cradled in someone’s arms as they all rushed around. He couldn’t see much, wasn’t aware of much, but he could hear Dee muttering that he had to stay awake, stay alive,  _ please, for me _ and he could see that it was dark. It was dark, and Virgil was scared of the dark, scared of everything he couldn’t see, scared of the pain that could creep up on him, scared of everything that he didn’t know was there-

But Dee’s voice was there, begging him to stay, insisting everything was going to turn out alright, and as much as Virgil tried to be a badass, as much as he tried to make people think he was the most dangerous person on their team, as much as he tried to fool everyone, Virgil had never been able to deny Dee. He couldn’t refute him, real or imaginary, couldn’t tell him that he wasn’t even really there. He loved Dee, to the ends of the earth and back (Virgil could almost hear Logan’s exasperated muttering  _ the earth has no end _ and missing the point completely. Because that was the point. Virgil loved them both, endlessly times two.) and he could never in a million years do something that would hurt Dee. It was simply impossible to imagine.

So Virgil pulled himself to awareness, and tightened his fingers on Dee’s shirt.

Minutes or hours or days or weeks or months or years later, they were in something that looked suspiciously like the infirmary at the compound. Virgil still wasn’t entirely sure how they got there, or even where they’d come from, but he knew Dee was still holding him. Logan was whispering somewhere near his ear, glasses barely visible in his peripheral. There was a hand feather-light on his own, and he knew that had to have been Logan’s. Logan was always so scared of hurting people, of breaking others. Only he could have a touch so aware of pain.

_ It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. _

This part was the most familiar to Virgil, because the infirmary had always been exact in its replication. The hospital smell and pale blue-and-pink walls. Dr. Picani’s particular brand cartoon and medical knowledge lead to a distinctive and unfortunately easily replicable room and disposition.

“Hey, Virgil. It’s great that you’re back,” Emile said. Virgil didn’t know when he’d entered the room, or even his field of vision. That made it weirder. Virgil was always distinctly aware of everything happening, like his captor wanted him to know exactly what he could have, if only they cared enough to save him. Now things were swimming in and out of focus, he was cutting in and out of the scene, and Virgil was getting more scared instead of less.

What was going on?

“I know that you’ve been gone for quite a while,” Emile continued, “and you probably want to spend time with everybody. We’ve all missed you a lot. But first things first, we need to heal you up, and make sure that you’ll be alright. Do you understand, Virgil?” He was staring right into Virgil’s face, too close for comfort, but Virgil tried to ignore the unwarranted fear and give Emile what he wanted: a nod.

“Good, Virgil! That’s really good,” Emile said. He began moving around again, and Virgil could feel one of Dee’s arms tightening slightly around him. “Now, we’re just going to give you some pain killers, okay? I know you have to be in a lot of pain right now, but this will help. Okay, Virgil?” But it wasn’t. It really wasn’t okay. Emile had turned around with a needle, and Virgil was struck by everytime the man who had captured him had came in with a needle, everytime it left him writhing in pain, everytime he hallucinated so badly he couldn’t breathe, everytime it hurt and it hurt and it  _ hurt _ .

“No,” was rasping out of his throat before he could stop himself, and he was shaking and pressing back into Dee. “No no no no nononono.” Virgil needed an out, he needed to leave, he couldn’t do this, not that not that not that-

“Virgil, darling, please listen to me. It’s me. It’s me and Logan. Please, listen, Virgil.”

“Starlight, you’re okay. Emile’s not going to hurt you. You know Emile. He wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

“We would never let anyone lay a finger on you, Virgil. You know that.” Dee’s voice sounded choked again. Virgil needed to stop making them cry. They didn’t deserve to cry. “Please, darling. Take deep breaths. Do you remember your breathing exercises? Breathe with me, Virgil. Come on.” Virgil tried to focus on the way Dee and Logan were breathing in sync, tried to match himself up with them, tried to make them happy with him, but the needle was floating at the back of his head and he knew that as soon as he let his guard down they would get him and hurt him and he couldn’t do it he couldn’t do that he couldn’t-

“-hold him-needs to calm down-seda-” Emile’s voice was there and gone, there and gone, but Virgil didn’t need to hear all the words to understand what was happening. Because Dee’s arms tightened on Virgil, and then Logan’s did too and now he was stuck and he had living restraints and they were going to hurt him again.

_ It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. _

It was more plea than mantra now. Virgil couldn’t live if they hurt him, if they were real and they hurt him. He couldn’t live like that, he couldn’t exist in a world where Dee and Logan hurt him, not if they were real, so they couldn’t be. They couldn’t be real because Virgil couldn’t live if they were and they would hurt him. They were  _ safe _ . Real Logan and Real Dee were  _ safe _ and they  _ protected _ him, no matter what. They didn’t hurt him. They didn’t hurt him. They would never hurt him.

But they were holding him now, and Virgil was shaking and crying and trying to get away because Emile was coming closer with another needle and Virgil didn’t want it, didn’t want the pain, didn’t want anything to do with that stupid needle.

“No! No please, don’t. I can’t! Can’t-I can’t-I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll-I’ll stop-I promise! No! I don’t want it! I’ll be good, stop stop stop stop stop!” But just like every time before, nothing stopped. Dee kept holding him still, and Logan was holding one arm out, exposing all his veins and Virgil was screaming and there was something wet falling on Virgil’s face and Dee was shaking underneath him and-

And the needle slid under his skin.

Virgil stared in horror at the spot the needle had gone in, and stopped struggling. “No. No. I-no,” he mumbled. Dee and Logan were rubbing his back and his arms and talking but Virgil couldn’t hear it. All he could feel was his eyelids getting heavier and fear for whatever new hell was waiting for him on the other side.

“No, I don’ wanna sleep. Please. Can’t sleep. Can’t go back. Don’ wanna go back. Don’ lemme go back, I don’ wanna go back, please, I don’...” Virgil burrowed into Dee’s chest because Dee would keep him safe. Dee wouldn’t make Virgil go back. Dee wouldn’t let Virgil get hurt again. Dee wouldn’t hurt Virgil. “I c’n’t sleep, I don’ wanna go back. I don’ wan…”

“No, baby,” Dee said, and it was maybe the third time Dee had ever called Virgil ‘baby’. He was crying and his voice was uneven and Virgil hated that it sounded like that. It was probably Virgil’s fault. “You’re not going back. You’re never going back. I promise, Virgil. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just, just go to sleep for now, alright? I’ll be right here. Logan and I will be right here the whole time, and we’ll be waiting for you when you wake up. We’ll make sure that nothing bad happens, okay? You won’t go back. I promise, you’re never going to have to go back there, and you’ll never be hurt like that again. It’s okay. Just go to sleep. We’ll protect you. You’re safe here, Virgil. You’re safe.”

Virgil’s eyes were being forced closed by two ten ton magnets, and the last conscious thought he had before he was gone was that Dee was already beginning to feel more like a table.


End file.
